There Is A Tide
by Xanrivash
Summary: There's a time for everything - a time to worry, a time to plan, a time to work, and a time to just sit there and be.


_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Just make breathing the biggest problem you have right now_...

Demyx had more problems in his life than breathing, a hell of a lot more, but now wasn't the time to dwell on them. Now was the time to set them aside for a little while and meditate, take deep breaths in time with the waves on the shore, let the rhythm become such a part of him that it was the only part left. Gods above, he spent enough time dwelling on all his many worries, insecurities, and inadequacies as it was; he had to take a mental break every so often...dammit, he had to stop thinking of them now, because this was totally not helping him meditate.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out..._

He wasn't going to get scheduled a mission while he was here missing breakfast, was he? He hadn't made it a secret where he was going to be, if he was, especially since Roxas was supposed to meet him here after breakfast, but Xemnas would still be pissed off...he'd tried to pick a day when his and Roxas's odds of getting a mission seemed lowest, if he had any talent for rhythms at all, but hell, he wasn't Luxord; he couldn't see the future perfectly, and he hadn't had the nerve to ask Xigbar in advance. Fuck, he was worrying again, wasn't he?...What if Roxas got a mission? Well, then, he'd spend the day on the beach alone, and not for the first time, and he was still worrying when he wasn't supposed to be.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._

For fuck's sake, he knew he could do this; he'd done it before...somehow, in some way, he had to just...forget the rest of the worlds. Forget missions, forget surfing lessons, forget that half-finished composition on his desk and the fact that it was his turn to clean the bathroom this week and Axel was bitching at him about stolen socks again. The sun wasn't quite ready to rise in this world, and the sky was just brightening in anticipation, and the tide was coming in, and the waves were rolling over the sand, as steady a rhythm as the heart he used to have. All that other shit was _there_ and _then_, while he was _here_ and _now._

_Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the rhythm take you. Let yourself go._

_There_ and _then_ were drifting longer ago and further away. The sky was getting lighter, tinting both sand and water pink. The waves were still rolling, in that same steady rhythm, and Demyx was unconsciously breathing in that same rhythm. He'd forgotten that he'd been worrying about anything before he came here; he'd forgotten that he'd existed before coming here. He wasn't focused entirely on his own breathing, he was focused on nothing at all - just sitting there, watching the sunrise, listening to the water, and just _being_ for a little while. Not being insecure, not being anxious, not being depressed, not being inadequate - just _being_. The sun broke over the horizon, drenching everything with a brilliant red glow, and he was more aware of it than he was of his own existence, let alone his supposed lack thereof. He was, just as the sun was and the water was and the world around him was. That was all.

Somewhere, a dog barked, and a seagull flew across the sun. A car pulled into the parking lot behind him, doors were slammed, and two men walked past him, carrying surfboards and talking eagerly to each other. Demyx realized that he should be joining them, getting a ride or two in before Roxas showed up, and the act of thinking was enough to break the spell. All of a sudden, he was himself again, Demyx, Nobody, composer, musician, walking bag of mental health issues, and today, at least, surf instructor to his adopted brother. Demyx did not have time to sit around and just be for a while; Demyx had to get his ass on the water and make sure he was relaxed enough not to make a fool of himself so he could actually provide a decent lesson. Demyx should have had his ass out on the water before anyone else got here; that had been the entire point of coming here so early, not sitting around on said ass doing nothing...

...Did he really _want_ to run out there and get back to being his anxious, insecure, depressed self? Did he _want_ to go back to worrying and fussing and having to think a mile a minute to avoid making a fool of himself at any opportunity?Or did he want to just sit back down and breathe in the rhythm of the waves until he forgot he existed? He thought and worried and fretted so much and so often, and so rarely took a moment to himself and really, truly found a way to just _not_, that he almost didn't know who he would be if he didn't worry...

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

He picked up his board and lowered his eyes against the glaring sun. Beyond his dazzled vision, the waves rolled on in a rhythm he didn't need to hear. He could feel it, as strong as his long-lost heartbeat.

_Get out there, and let the rhythm take you. Let yourself go._

He took a few deep breaths, unconsciously matching the rhythm of the waves, and ran into the water. He knew, as certainly as he knew where his own hands were, where the best waves were going to be, and made his way there without an instant's hesitation. There was no urgency in him, no determination, no fear or anxiety, only the knowledge of the water and the board and his own body, how they would interact, and how they would all unite.

The morning sun washed everything in gold - sand, sky, water, and skin. The admiring cheers of his fellow surfers mingled with the roar of the water around him, and meant as much to him. There was water on his skin, and sun on his skin - there was the water, there was the sun - the water was, the sun was, and so was he. That was all.

* * *

AN: This is pretty much just an attempt to break a writer's block. The end result seemed worthy of publication.


End file.
